The Value of the Almighty Dollar
by That Girl Six
Summary: When Sammy starts asking questions, Dean needs to get creative with his answers. PreSeries.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own my education and won't for many years, so I certainly can't buy myself a copyright. Kripke can owe me until I get my student loan sharks paid off. Until then, I'll just pine away in my little corner of happiness.

**Author's Notes:** This little story is an experiment for me. I have never written the Winchesters as children, and I've certainly never tried to write anything so … sentimental. Hopefully it works out for you anyway. Many, many thanks to Tidia for both the quick edit and for taking it easy on me. Other than that, thanks for reading. Enjoy! Six

This story is set pre-series (summer 1989) and between the pilot and "Wendigo".

* * *

**The Value of the Almighty Dollar  
**_by That Girl Six_

_August, 1989_

"Where would you come up with something like that?"

Dean Winchester sat up from the heat of the summer grass to gape at his baby brother like he was completely nuts. Sammy was always full of questions and had come up with a few doosies lately, but this one was out of the park. The funny thing was it was a pretty stupid question to most people if you thought about it, but with Sammy no question ever seemed all that stupid. He asked questions of other people only after he'd tried to find the answer himself, which meant that his kid brother had been thinking about this for a while. Okay, so that made it a little less than nuts, mostly just weird.

Sammy's face scrunched into the sun. to try to see his brother with his carefully constructed thoughtful look as he tried to explain what he was thinking. He got that a lot. He tried to explain things the best he could anyway because Dean never told him his questions were stupid (well, not and mean it anyway). Dean would get it. "The sermon Pastor Jim was practicing this morning for Sunday," he explained. "He was talking about a guy who sold his soul and how much it cost. I tried to ask him about it, but he said something about this other guy who said that that guy is now in a circle in Hell and being eaten alive for all time. He said there are all kinds of other guys in books who have done it, too. At first, he said it was 'priceless', but when I asked him why one can cost that much and then another one is priceless, he said that he doesn't have an answer for me because everyone who tells the story tells it a little different. So I'm asking you."

"Why me?"

"Because I like how you tell stories, and besides, you know everything."

"I don't know _every_thing," said Dean quietly, a light blush on his cheeks. He would never say it out loud, but he kind of liked it whenever the dork said things like that. He liked that someone in the world thought he could do anything the way he thought his dad could do anything, even if that someone was a pain in the ass little brother.

"Then why do you tell me you do?"

Dean raised his eyebrows at the challenge. That question had been coming up a lot lately, too._ But hey, ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer. _He dropped his head back onto the backpack he'd been using as a pillow and said in his Dad voice, "Because when I'm in charge, I _do_ know everything about when you're supposed to brush your teeth and go to bed and do your homework. I know everything that's important for me to know, and I know everything about you. Got it?"

Again the smaller boy seemed to think about the answer he was given, process it, and move on with a relaxing of his eyes. "I guess so."

Sammy stopped again, flopping back on the grass next to his big brother to stare back up at the clouds. It had been a hot day so far, muggy and gross, but they had managed to stay outside all day anyway. Dad was busy working, and Pastor Jim let them have free rein around his place whenever they were there. They could spend the entire day out and no one would really notice. Dean liked to tell Sammy the life they led at Pastor Jim's was the closest thing to _Before_ that Dean could remember.

Once their chores were done, they passed the time chasing each other around, doing a little of their version of sparring (because Dad had made them promise that they would at least a little bit) that was really more like a rough house version of Tag, and climbing the trees. Dean made up stories to keep his kid brother enthralled long enough to hide them in the shade until the sun called them back out. Sammy could tell a few, but he liked Dean's stories best. The tree swing had long since grown boring until Dean found an entire world of miniature dragons and gnomes living inside that made Dr. Seuss look like a freaking pansy.

While he tracked a parasail across the sky from a branch a little too high up, Sammy lazily asked, "What's in-fall-ation?"

"What's what?"

"In-fall-ation."

"You mean inflation? And come down here. If you fall asleep up there and fall down and break your neck, I'm not going to be the one to tell Dad."

Sammy obeyed the order immediately, climbing as carefully as he could and not scrape his legs. On the way, he explained, "Okay, in-_flay_-tion. When I asked Pastor Jim, Dad said that his answer wasn't ac-count-ed-ing for inflation. I think he was trying to be funny, but I'm not sure. So what's inflation?"

"We're still talking about the same question?"

"_Dean_," the smaller boy whined protractedly.

"Hey, do you want an answer or not?" said Dean without too much bite. The tone made sure to let Sammy know that yes, he was still thinking about the question, but he had a right to figure it out on his own, too. "I'm not sure what it is, but when we go inside we can look if you want to. But figure it out: it probably has something to do with money, right?"

"Like when Dad says the gas prices suck because of fuckin' inflation?"

It took everything Dean had not to laugh at his brother. Sammy knew he wasn't supposed to say those words, but he liked to sneak them in the back door whenever he could. They both did. He guessed the grown-ups knew that, too, but they always got that look on their faces like they were trying not to laugh, so it wasn't like he was wrong thinking the same thing. Sammy saying the bad words was kind of funny. He knew he couldn't exactly tell his brother not to say that word either, considering that Sammy hadn't told on him earlier that morning. Yeah, they were even.

"Maybe. Something like that." Dean used the same trick that their father always used to try to get him to figure things out for himself. Dad was big on that, trying to work a problem out by yourself first. But Dean figured that since it was his job to help Sammy with everything else, it wouldn't be cheating to help him figure this one out either. He raised his hand up to help the kid down from the last branch and had him sit next to him on the ground at the base of the tree. He grabbed a stick from nearby and used it to draw the word 'inflate' in the dirt as if he were strategizing a battle plan. "But let's figure it out. Okay, so part of the word is 'inflate', right? What do you inflate?"

"Dolls?"

"_What?_"

"I heard Bobby tell Caleb that the only date he was ever going to get would be with an inflatable doll."

"I don't think that's what that means," said Dean, probably too quickly. He didn't exactly know what that one meant either, but he could guess and have a pretty good idea that he was right. Dad could explain that one — or better yet, Bobby. For some reason, Bobby getting in trouble with Pastor Jim for the things he told them was funnier than when it happened to Dad. At least, that's what Dad said. Until then, he needed to get through these questions without getting himself in trouble. "Let's try something else. What else do you blow up?"

"A balloon?"

"Sure. Balloons work." He drew a balloon under the word in the dirt with an arrow going out next to it. "And when you have an empty balloon then blow it up, it gets what?"

"Bigger?"

"Yep, bigger. It's still the same thing but bigger. I'm pretty sure that's 'inflate'. And you know the word has something to do with money since that's what you were asking about. Dad is saying that the gas prices suck because they keep inflating, right?" Dean waited patiently while Sammy tried to figure it all out, seeing the proverbial light bulb going off over his head when he did. Dean smiled. "Well?"

"It's when stuff costs more money even though it's the same thing?"

"Probably," said Dean proudly. His brother was a book dork, but he was proud of him for it. They all were. Dad said Mom was a book dork, too, and it made them all happy that Sammy had parts of Mom since he didn't get to know her otherwise. "Do you want to go ask to be sure?"

"No, I think you're right."

"Okay." Dean didn't know for sure if he was right, but he liked that Sammy thought he was. They had tried. That was all that mattered. They both fell into the quiet again, listening to the bugs buzz along the grass and baking under the wavy humidity. Dean was starting to think Sammy had fallen asleep when his brother unexpectedly pulled the stick out from his hands.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Which one?"

"How much do you think my soul costs?" the smaller boy huffed. Sometimes he got the impression that no one ever actually listened to him just because he was little.

"I don't know, Sammy. How much do you think mine costs?"

There was no containing the awe in the smaller boy's voice as he looked at his brother and said with a low whistle, "For you? A lot."

Dean had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. His eyebrows crooked up in mock question. "Just a lot?"

"I'm six. I can only count to a thousand, not to infinity. You can't count to infinity anyway; that's why it's called infinity. And when you can't count _that_ high, you're supposed to say 'a lot'."

"Okay. Well then, let's make it easy — a dollar for every year. Right now, my soul costs ten dollars."

"That's all?" Sammy asked, playing uncomfortably with the blades of grass under his hand.

"That sounds like a lot to me," said Dean softly. It had seemed like an awful lot last week when Dad had needed that much to get enough gas in the car to get to Pastor Jim's. The way Dad had sounded, ten dollars was just short of a mint.

"Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"Why would someone sell their soul anyway?"

"I don't know. I don't even know if you really can. I don't think you can sell something that you can't see. It's not like you go to the store and offer your soul to get a shirt or something. I don't think it works like that."

"Because they cost so much?"

The older boy shook his head. "Pastor Jim is always telling us how the heart and soul are the biggest part of us, and we have to do whatever we can to protect it. I think if you asked him he'd say that you can't sell something that needs to be protected. I couldn't sell your soul any more than I could sell you."

"So I can't sell it either?"

"Why would you want to sell it anyway?" When Sammy only shifted his feet back and forth without an answer, Dean scootched over a little closer to him. He wasn't sure why, but he could swear that the kid looked disappointed or something. He bumped his shoulder into the smaller boy's, but Sammy didn't make a move back. He tried again and asked, "What's wrong?"

"If I asked you to, would you buy my soul?"

Dean tried not to laugh. He should have known that this was where the questions were going. Sammy was a little on the affectionate side these days. He was practically a girl sometimes. Things had been a little sensitive lately, though, so the last thing he wanted to do was make his brother cry again. He actually would sell his soul, if such things were possible, if it meant that he would never have to see his brother cry. So instead, he kept it simple. "Don't you want it anymore?"

"It would be safer with you than it would with me."

"Why?"

"Because you look out for me. Like you said, you know everything about how to take care of me. I guess if you can take care of me, you can take care of my soul, too, right? Besides, you're bigger."

"But I won't always be."

"No way. You'll always be bigger than me."

"But one day you'll be as big as I am and you won't need me to. You'll be able to look out for yourself. Don't you think you'll want it then?"

Sammy got that thoughtful look on his face again, seemed to come to a conclusion, and held out his hand to shake it. "Okay, then you can have it until I'm big enough to take care of it myself."

Dean waited for a while, expecting his brother to keep things moving along now that he'd made up his mind — Sammy had a one track mind once it was made up — but the kid still sat quietly. His hands were in his lap, wringing with worry or something like it. "Now what?"

"I just . . . I'm six _and a quarter_. Does that mean it should be 6.25, not just six dollars?"

"Tell you what," chuckled Dean. "Why don't you give me the big brother discount and sell it to me for a dollar?"

"Can I do that?" asked Sammy, his eyes lighting back up.

"Hey, it's your soul. You do it how you want to."

Sammy held his hand out, palm flat. "One dollar, please?"

Dean took out the dollar from his wallet. He held it for a minute, debating, knowing that this was probably the dumbest thing he could ever do with a dollar, but Sammy wasn't going to let this one drop either. He pulled a pen out of his backpack, looked at the dollar one last time with a sigh, and uncapped his pen. He scribbled along the top edge of the bill and handed it over to Sammy with a smile.

_This dollar was used by Dean Winchester to pay for the soul of Sammy Winchester._

"Now put that in your wallet and don't lose it."

"Cool." The positively beaming boy hugged the bill to his heart. He pulled it away and stared at it for a while, like it was written in some strange language that only Pastor Jim's books came in. He glanced over to where Dean was stuffing his stuff back into his backpack and said worriedly, "I think you should have Daddy buy yours."

The older boy looked up, surprised at the tone in his kid brother's voice. "How come?"

"Somebody should take care of yours like you do mine. I don't want anything to happen to yours either."

"Nothing bad is going to happen to any of us, Sammy. You know that. Dad isn't going to let anything happen to any of us. That's his job. It's what dads do."

"Please?"

"How 'bout you buy it?"

The little boy's head shook side to side in exaggerated ferocity, his eyes popped wide and mouth set in a grim line. "Nuh-uh. I'm too little. I would wreck it or lose it or something."

"I think you should buy it."

"I'm sure Daddy would. Maybe Caleb or Uncle Bobby or Pastor Jim."

"I think you should."

"I _can't_!"

"Yeah, you can. I want you to have it. If somebody besides me is going to have my soul, I want it to be you."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

Sammy waved his brother closer until Dean's face was hardly six inches from his. The younger boy looked both ways like he was making sure no one could hear him but Dean before he whispered, "Can I borrow a dollar?"

Dean rolled his eyes, but he pulled one more bill out of his wallet. His dad was so going to bust his butt for wasting two dollars that could have gone into the grocery fund in an emergency or something, but it seemed like it was so important to his brother that it would maybe be worth it. He could sneak out to mow an extra lawn to make it up if he had to. He scrawled on this bill now, too, and presented it to his brother.

_This dollar was used by Sammy Winchester to buy the soul of Dean Winchester._

Sammy kissed the bill like he thought it would give it luck then handed it back to his brother. "You don't lose yours either. I don't want anyone to get your soul but me."

"Well, who else would I give it to?"

"You'll probably give it to some girl just for a kiss or something."

"Why would you think that?"

"Because you've been acting really weird around girls lately. You like them more than you like me right now."

"No, I don't. I would never give my soul to anyone but you. Promise." Dean considered the bill in his hand, reached out to grab his brother's hand, and stuffed the paper into the grubby fingers. "Just to be safe, why don't you keep them together? Find someplace where no one is ever going to find them and that they won't get forgotten anywhere."

Sammy crinkled his eyes worriedly. "But I don't have anyplace special."

"Yeah, you do," said Dean, his voice loaded. He waited for his brother's awed '_hey, yeah!_', clowned the kid up the back side of his head, and pushed him toward the house. "Come on. We better get cleaned up or Dad won't let Pastor Jim take us tonight. I'm going to get in enough trouble for not making you take a nap."

The smaller boy rubbed his head, grumbling, "I don't take naps anymore."

"Remember you said that tomorrow."

"Why?" Sammy asked, even as he yawned.

"Never mind. C'mon, let's get you in the tub before they see you."

A plate of cookies and two glasses of lemonade sat on the kitchen table, drowning with condensation from the wait for the two boys to come in. Next to the Scooby Doo plate was a note in Pastor Jim's handwriting telling Sammy that there were some books for him to look at in the living room. They each grabbed a cookie and their glasses and tromped off to the relative coolness of the living room. As promised, there was a small stack of books on the coffee table tagged with pieces of paper. While Sammy turned the radio on, Dean flipped to a few of the marked pages. Apparently, Pastor Jim had known the discussion wasn't over, too.

They got the dictionary down to check the definition of 'inflation' and were more than pleased with themselves that they had gotten it right. They poured over the pictures in the books Pastor Jim had left out for them awhile, but there didn't seem to be anything in them that they hadn't already figured out for themselves. There was the guy with the silver, which kind of struck Dean as a stupid thing to do. He'd sold his soul to his brother because it was his brother; to do it for anything else seemed really stupid. Sammy had whole-heartedly agreed and hoped that it was at least some special kind of silver. That book was set aside almost right away (especially after Sammy found the carving with the naked chick with the apple and snake). There was one with some guy called 'Faust' that looked way too hard to read. The pictures didn't look so good either. By the end of their searching, neither of them could really understand how it was that selling their souls to each other could be such a bad thing like all of the pictures made it look. The monsters in the pictures didn't have anything to do with how they had done it.

After a while, Sammy decided that it didn't matter what the pictures said. They had done the right thing for each other, their dad would be okay with it, and no scary picture was going to tell him that buying his brother's soul to protect it forever and ever was anything other than good. Dean said the same thing. That was all that mattered.

So they went upstairs satisfied. Once Sammy had his tub and was cleaned up, Dean had him lie down while he got himself cleaned up for the night. The smaller boy didn't quite fall asleep, but at least it wouldn't be a fib to say that he had laid down. It would have to be good enough. Dean left him there on his bed, half asleep, and went down to check on his father. Soon they got busy with the business of making dinner until John told him to get his brother downstairs.

From the bottom of the stairs, Dean called up, "SAMMY! WAKE UP! SUPPER!"

"_Go upstairs_ and get him, please," said an exasperated John. Like they hadn't had _that_ discussion before…

"Yes, sir," the boy said. He took off up the stairs two at a time, even though he had repeatedly been told not to. He knew the adults would just roll their 'kids' eyeroll behind his back like always.

"GO AWAY," Sammy yelled from the doorway to their bedroom. "I'll be there in a minute."

Too late, Dean was already at the door. Sammy grabbed him around the waist and turned him around, pushing him back toward the stairs. "GO! I can't hide them if you're here."

"I know where you're hiding them," the older boy shrugged, deliberately throwing his weight back against his brother's pushing.

"No, you don't. Go 'way."

Dean got an evil little look in his eyes and yelled so that the adults could hear his impatience, "SAMMY!"

"Butt breath," the smaller boy grumbled.

"Yeah, yeah, okay. I'm goin'. Just hurry up. Dad's gonna burn dinner again if you don't hurry."

"Go!"

Not thirty seconds later, John was hollering up the stairs. "SAMUEL, GET DOWN HERE!"

"I'M COMIN'!" he bellowed back before he slammed the bedroom door shut. He didn't want anyone to see what he was going to do. It didn't do any good to have a secret hiding place if anyone besides Dean knew where it was. "Geez …"

He was almost done when heard his father and Pastor Jim start to call for him together, so he quickly tied everything up and ran for the door, almost slipping in the puddle of water he had made by the foot of the bed. "Coming!" he yelled again.

They waited until 2100 before they made the half hour drive to the next county over to the fairgrounds since they stopped charging at the gate once the second grand stand show was underway. It wasn't necessarily a good idea to keep the boys up so late, especially when they were sure to get their wish and down a bag of mini-donuts each, but it was a special occasion. Even Pastor Jim was willing to let some things slide for special occasions. He had his boys for a limited time and had every intention of enjoying it.

They were still a fairly good distance from the fairway, lit only by the cars ducking in and out of wrangled rows of cars that would tear up the grass for another year to come. There was a smile on John's face that had Jim both pleased and curious, but seeing Sammy holding his brother's hand without being asked to was probably a good enough answer. It seemed like the only thing that could make the younger hunter smile these days was his kids.

Before the boys were set completely loose on the world, Jim wanted at least a few minutes with them. They were bound to be too tuckered out to actually have a conversation with him later. As Sammy skipped through the grass, a swarm of grasshoppers flew up around him, giving Jim the right opportunity to distract the boys from the lights in the closing distance. "So Samuel, did you find the answer you were looking for this afternoon?"

"Yep."

Jim waited for a moment, even exchanging a look with John. Sammy was usually so eager to talk that it didn't take any extra prodding to get a full answer from him; one word answers just didn't cut it. "And?"

"Dean took care of it."

"Took care of what how?"

"It's okay. Dean took care of it, and then I hid them where no one is going to find them," the boy said in a secreted tone. "They're safe."

John cast a glance in Jim's direction. Obviously he had missed something that afternoon. "What are safe, Sammy?"

"Our souls." The '_duh_' in Sammy's tone was too blatant to be implied. "Dean paid for mine, and I borrowed a dollar to pay for his. I hid them in the safe place until I'm big enough that we can sell them back and I can take care of mine myself. I'll take care of the dollars since I'm big enough to take care of those. Dean promised to take care of the souls until then, though, so everything's okay."

He said it so simply, so innocently, that it seemed like the easiest answer in the world. Of course Dean paid for their souls. Of course they only cost a dollar. Of course they were easily hidden someplace safe until they were big enough. It made sense in Sammy's world. It was the adults who just didn't get it. Sammy could tell by their voices and the looks on their faces. This was just going to be one of those times when they didn't get it, just like they didn't get a lot of things between him and Dean. That was okay, though. Dean said that that's how it was supposed to be.

Sammy tugged on Dean's hand now, getting excited by the smells that could only mean that they were getting close to a hot dog stand and the beer garden. "C'mon, Dean! Hurry!"

"Slow up there, kiddo. Some of us aren't as young as we used to be," John called with a smirk in Jim's direction. The man had been sporting a little more gray hair recently than even he wanted to admit, and John had taken every opportunity that presented itself to remind him of it on this visit. "You're going to wear the old folks out before we even get out the gate."

Dean pulled up Sammy's hand just a little harder, barely reining the kid in. He turned around and walked backwards to face his father to get full permission. "Dad, can we?"

"I think we might need to set up a few ground rules first, don't you?" asked Jim.

"Yes, sir," answered Dean dutifully.

The pastor picked up the pace long enough to get caught up to the brothers so that he could remove from his pocket the strip of tickets he'd picked up for them earlier that week. He pressed them into Dean's hand with a few words of encouragement and responsibility whispered into his ear that only the child could hear. He listened carefully and nodded several times at what was said as Sammy watched the exchange with eager wonder. When Jim stood back up, Dean's eyes lit up at the length, his mind quickly calculating the worth in rides to be shared between them. He immediately looked up to his father for reassurances that it was okay to take them (even from family like Pastor Jim). Instead, all he got was a pair of apparently machine-washed five-dollar bills on top of the tickets. John ruffled his son's hair at the quirk of wonderment in his boy's smile.

John knelt down in the grass next, pulling Sammy up close to him. He put his hands on the boy's shoulders to command his attention. "We'll be close, but you stay close to your brother." To them both he said, "If we get separated, you go to the carousel and wait for us there."

"Yes, sir," the brothers answered with identical nods.

"Please be careful," added Jim.

"We will."

John pointed off about twenty feet where the line was formed around the Tilt-a-Whirl. "What are you waiting for? Go get sick!"

Neither of the boys needed further permission. Dean grabbed his brother's hand, and together they took off without a single look back.

John stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets as they walked, letting the boys get a safe distance ahead of them. Dean would make sure that Sammy was properly buckled. He even slowed them down a bit as he watched Sammy hold their tickets up to the carnie and walk backwards with barely contained giddiness while he waited for Dean to catch up. He opened his mouth to tell his baby to be careful, but a quick glance from Dean told him that it was already taken care of. John's head dipped a little, his lips pursing in thought. He and Jim watched the ride start a few moments later, waving at the kids as they twirled out of view.

Both men leaned comfortably on the steel fence, hands draping down and relaxed. Out of the corner of his mouth, Jim said to his friend, "Your sons sold their souls for a dollar each today."

"Lucky them," laughed John. "You couldn't get a plugged nickel for mine."

"John…"

"What?" The younger man shrugged. "If you ask me, Dean found the perfect answer to what is otherwise an asinine question for a five-year-old to begin with. No kid his age is going to understand that stuff and you know it. He shouldn't have to understand it. Hell, _we_ aren't old enough to have to understand it. That's for old men who take their church pictures with their Bibles to worry about."

"Their souls — "

"_Jim_," John interrupted with a sigh. "For right now, what does it hurt? I haven't kept it a secret from either of them that your guy and I aren't exactly on speaking terms these days — not that I trust Him with my own soul, let alone theirs. But if they will trust each other with them, I'm not going to fight them on it." He waited a beat, seeing that it was taking everything his friend had to not interrupt him with his own reasoning, but Jim was also one of the most patient people John had ever known. He would wait until he heard the entire explanation. John apparently looked like he had more to say, which he did, but he wasn't entirely sure that his reasoning needed explanation. Still, he had the man's full attention; he might as well use it to get his friend to really hear him on this for once. "I need them to trust each other, Jim, because I can't promise them that I will always be there for them. Mary promised them that every night, whether they remember it or not. I won't make that promise. I may screw a lot of things up with them, but I refuse to make them promises that I can't keep. So if I can get them to trust each other that way, though, it …" John rubbed his hand over his head a few times until he settled it on the back of his neck. "I just … Damn."

"What?"

"Sometimes, I … I never would have thought of something like that, not in a million. But Dean gets him, you know? Half the time, I have no idea what color the sky is in Sammy's world these days, but Dean gets it." Again John laughed. His voice held more amusement than Jim's had when he'd said the same thing. "They _sold_ their souls today."

"I can think of worse people to trust my soul with than those two," said Jim. John looked askance at his friend like he couldn't tell for sure if he was being serious or trying to pass it off to avoid the fight. Seeing the look, Jim shrugged. "It will be interesting to see how it goes when Sammy wants it back. I get the feeling Dean will fight him tooth and nail for it if Sammy actually remembers this in a few years."

They both waved over at the children as they dashed off just a little further ahead toward the line for the Ferris wheel. Sammy was holding his brother's hand like he was so very proud to be seen with his big brother; Dean, for his part, wasn't acting completely grossed out by it either. When they thought no one was watching, the two of them were the picture of everything that John hoped they would one day still be — brothers first, friends first, and inseparable. Stronger together. They were everything he had never had but wished for, and he hoped to keep it that way.

John felt a twinge of jealousy toward his sons and their secret little world that they kept from everyone as he said, "I don't think that's going to be a problem."

Jim immediately recognized the tone in his friend's voice. John didn't accept advice often, but when the younger man needed to talk, it was interesting how easily things poured out of him. Jim gave him another shake, just to see what would fall out. "You're thinking so hard, I might just see the little cartoon bubbles over your head pop here pretty soon."

"They won't be mine for much longer," said John quietly. He waved his hand in his friend's direction to silence him before the argument even came up. "I know I've done it to myself and that I probably shouldn't complain. I'm _not_ complaining. I want them to . . . I did the right thing for them. One of these days, our war is going to be theirs. God willing I'm wrong, but I have a feeling that we won't exactly be around to see them through it. I'm doing the right thing to keep them alive." He wiped his hand down his face, taking away the mask with it and allowing himself one brief moment of brutal honesty. "They're still my babies, Jim. I look at them and all I can see are those babies that Mary brought into this world. Whatever happens, they will always be my babies."

"I know that."

"Do you? 'Cause it seems to me most of the time that, between you and Singer and Caleb, you can't wait to tell me that I am turning Dean into a glorified watch dog and putting too much on his shoulders and everything else that you try to lecture me about without lecturing me." Hearing the harshness in his voice that John had in no way intended, he softened and jokingly bowed to the Master. "How do you do that, by the way, oh great Obi Wan?"

The pastor laughed and clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Years of practice, my friend. And I'll tell you something: you might want to try to figure it out yourself because that little one over there is probably going to need some of it himself. He's going to be a handful." Jim squeezed the younger man's shoulder a little tighter as he added, "No one doubts how much you love those boys, John. Certainly not me. Methods and parenting skills aside, I know you'd go to Hell itself in a heartbeat to protect your children."

"I would."

"Then what do my 'lectures' matter?"

John ducked his head again. He hated admitting that this man's opinion could hold so much weight with him. There was no real reason why it should, but he respected Jim's opinion above most any other. What made it worse was that he was pretty sure the man knew it, too. "They do, padre. They do."

They walked for a while, following the children (but not too close) and just enjoying the companionable silence amid the smells and lights and dirt. They waved when the kids waved at them and smiled appropriately at Sammy's enthusiasms. Since the kids weren't going to wandering anywhere near the beer gardens any time soon, Jim picked up the tab on a couple of watered down Cokes in cups that tasted like they'd been too near the pronto pup fryer for too long.

The silence had gone on long enough, though, prompting Jim to tease quietly, "And now, for the maudlin portion of the evening … "

John raised an eyebrow in his friend's direction. Jim's voice told him just how much he'd let go without thinking about what he was saying. Inwardly he cringed, but he shook it off and flashed his friend his most daring smile. He nodded his head toward the ball toss that happened to be stationed right next to where the boys were standing in line for the Octopus. Jim grinned at the challenge, reaching out his long arms in front of him, clasping his fingers, and flexing.

"Bring it on, padre," John practically boomed. He clapped Jim on the back and led him to the shouting carnie's counter. "Bring. It. On."

When they pulled up in front of the house a long rambunctious two hours later, Dean watched Pastor Jim sluggishly as the man came around to the back and opened the door to pull Sammy out of the seat. Dean's hand reflexively tightened on his little brother's ankle for half a second until the sleep cleared from his own head to remind him that they were where the safe was. Jim reached out and ghosted his hand over the older boy's head with a tender smile until he felt Dean's head nod under it. The boy released his brother from his watch. It felt good to do it once in a while.

John came around to the other side to let Dean out. The man offered a warm arm around his son's shoulders as they shook with both midnight August breeze and interrupted sleep. Over his boy's head, John nodded to the pastor, who carried the unstirred sleeping Sammy up the porch steps and through the screen door. Whether it was because they were all tired or from something else, John didn't think it mattered, but he squeezed Dean's shoulder a little harder when his son leaned into the touch. They weren't a hugging family and never would be, but stolen moments didn't really count if no one saw them. Besides, they were tired.

At the top of the porch steps, John let Dean go only a little so that he could get the boy to look at him. He smiled reassuringly, something he tried to remind himself to do with both his boys despite the fact that everything he had ever been taught told him that the cuddly love stuff wasn't what was going to keep a man alive. But when he heard Mary's voice in the back of his head reminding him that they were his sons first and his future (hopefully never) soldiers last, he knew that being their dad was okay now and then, too. A little encouragement might do them both some good. He sat them both down on the porch swing, letting his foot laze them back and forth in the night's muggy heat.

"That was smart what you did with Sammy today, kiddo, buying his soul like that."

Dean yawned, rubbing his eyes like he was still the nine-year-old his body told him he was, even though he knew better. "He needed it."

John eyed his son closely. "_Needed_ it?"

"Well," started Dean slowly. "You're our dad. You're in charge of us, and I'm in charge of Sammy, but he doesn't have anyone to be in charge of. I think sometimes he feels left out because he doesn't have to take care of anyone like we do. I figured that if he thought he could take care of us that way, he wouldn't feel so left out."

"Think it worked?"

"I don't know yet," the boy said, chewing on his lower lip thoughtfully. "It depends on if he thinks about it too much tomorrow or not, I think."

"Why's that?"

"The pictures in Pastor Jim's books. I got him to go upstairs before he really started asking about them, but he did see a few pictures. They all showed people going to Hell and on fire and stuff because they sold their souls. If he decides not to care about the pictures, it'll be okay, but if he starts thinking about it too much … "

John thought about what Dean was saying. It wasn't like he'd been immune to his youngest's new penchant for asking too many questions about too many things that he honestly didn't have answers for. Obviously, Dean was coping better than he was. He'd at least gotten this far. Lost for an answer at the moment, John put his arm back around his kid and said, "We'll hide those books and find others." He laughed before he could catch it, drawing Dean's curious eyes up to him. "We need to get him some lighter bedtime reading."

Dean dropped his head a little like he was thinking about it. Softly, he offered his father, "He likes dinosaurs these days."

Until Dean said it, John hadn't realized that the idea of him buying books for his youngest probably sounded like a lost cause. It wasn't like he had any idea what either of his kids liked these days. There were stand-bys, sure, like baseball and music and superhero comic books, but what they liked of their own things was a different story. During the school year, hunts were as much a weekend thing as he could make them, but with summers like this, he admittedly relied too much on the only people he had left to trust in the world to watch his kids so that he could make it safer for all of them. The trade-off came and went every summer with the realization that both the boys had found new interests without him, and he was going to need the entire school year to catch up. Again, the thought creeped up on him that his sons were going to soon to be lost to him. The time exchange rate was starting to break what was left of his heart.

"Dinosaurs, huh?" John reached up to tuck his boy's head a little closer to his chest, enjoying the weight slumped on his side. "And what about you?" When Dean didn't answer, John shook him just a little bit. A soft, sleepy moan hummed against his chest. John tried again, this time with a quieter whisper not really intended to get an answer. "How about you, kiddo?"

The boy mumbled something about his brother before his head dropped in complete sleep. So much for that father-son talk.

John rocked them on the porch for a while, not wanting either to let go of the warm weight of his child or the small moment that he could keep for himself. People could think he was too rough on his kids all they wanted. He knew. It was moments just like this that he was giving up having more often so that his boys wouldn't have to when they themselves were grown. Everything he did was so that his babies wouldn't have to. Eventually the breeze picked up enough that the moment had to end. John carefully maneuvered himself around so that he could pick his son up and carry him up to the room the boys shared. Dean stirred only slightly until John whispered in his ear that it was all okay, that he could stay asleep. After the long day of heat and junk food and the Sizzler, the boy was in no position to disagree.

Upstairs, he found Jim standing just outside the doorjamb to the boys' room watching Sammy sleep. The older man followed John and Dean into the room and helped the mostly asleep boy stand while his father pulled off his sneakers and jeans. Once they got Dean into his bed, Jim clapped his friend on the shoulder and nodded toward the door. There would be a drink waiting whenever John was ready.

John tried to steer Dean to his own bed, but the boy stubbornly found his way to his brother's bed even in his sleep. They weren't used to their own beds on a regular basis, so having them here was more a hindrance than a prize. It wasn't long before Sammy turned in his sleep toward his brother and inched just a little closer. John ghosted his hand over both of their heads, whispering them good nights and sweet dreams before taking a seat in the rocking chair that had been in their room since Sammy had still been in diapers. The chair didn't exactly need to be there anymore — the boys were too big for rocking of that kind — but he stood a sleepy guard anyway until he was sure their dreams would be the kind he wanted for them.

He didn't realize that he'd dropped off himself until he felt the weight of Jim's hand on his shoulder (only gripping, never shaking, and always recognized as safe). He blearily looked up and followed his friend's nod out the door. He gave his sons one last look before heading out into the dimmed light in the hallway. Jim shut the door for him, pushing him down the hall with a laugh.

"Relax," Jim said patiently. "For once, I think they're going to bed completely safe."

"Are we talking about their little business transaction again?"

"Among other things."

"I think you're putting too much power behind the almighty dollar tonight." In the back of his mind, he thought of how the act had given him so much hope earlier in the evening and added, "I think maybe we both are."

"Oh, I don't know. I think those kids are going to grow up and surprise us one day."

"One way or another, you're probably right."

* * *

_November, 2005_

It was amazing to Dean how loud a dead apartment could be. That was how he was thinking of Sam's apartment at the moment — dead. It was a blackened thing that used to be an apartment. Charred bits of ceiling randomly fell to what was left of the scarred wooden floorboards, squelching when they got away and collapsing into dust when they hit. When things weren't falling, water was dripping. There was literally nothing that wasn't falling down around him. He wondered if this is what it had sounded like in their house, too. It must have. Everything else seemed to be the same.

Sam was about the only thing in the joint that wasn't making much noise. He'd hardly made any sounds at all, actually. His brother who was normally all bouncing knees and tapping fingers was eerily still, like Jessica's death had given him some kind of grace that he otherwise never would have found. Even when Sam was tossing aside a fallen crossbeam from the kitchen doorway, it was done with such reverence that the beam floated, not crashed. To be honest, it was kind of scary.

They'd seen Jessica's parents that morning, and they'd assured Sam that he didn't have to do this today, but he wanted it over and done with. The force of energy that had brought him to proclaim "_We've got work to do_" the night before had burned out with exhaustion and brought him to the reality that they had things to do here first. Her parents needed to get the things they wanted of hers; he needed to get the things he wanted of hers and theirs. The rest of what was salvageable had to be arranged for pick-up to the pawnshop for some other poor college shmuck to find at bargain prices. Besides, the money would get them through for a few weeks of gas. There were all kinds of arrangements that needed making, paperwork that needed filing. The break from Stanford and Jessica and the world where things like this were just random electrical fires had to be a clean, legal one. The last thing Sam needed was for his taking off to look suspicious in any way. He had enough problems.

The hardest part was that Dean was pretty sure he had no fucking clue how to help his brother with any of those problems. It had been such a long time since Sam had needed him to solve anything for him that Dean wasn't sure he would know what signs to look for even if Sam did want the help. He didn't even know how to help himself at the moment. He had wanted his brother back so badly, but not like this. He wasn't even sure if what he was getting back right now was Sam anyway.

At the moment, that was the scariest prospect. When he'd used the family entrance to Sam's place just a few nights before, he had gotten only a cursory look around the place. There hadn't been much of anything that had screamed "Sammy" at him, and sifting through it all now wasn't helping any. He didn't want to have to keep asking "keep" or "toss" over items that, as far as he was concerned, he should have known about the way he had known everything else about his brother for so long. After a while, he stopped asking altogether, instead just fingering things here and there that might tell him something about his brother's life so that he could understand at least a little one day. If any of this was understandable …

The kitchen was the easiest room to get through. Most everything had survived in there. Sam set aside two boxes, one for Jessica's parents so that her grandmother's dishes could go back to the family and one for supplies on the road like salt and knives. They were interrupted half way through when a woman came in to talk with Sam about letting the investigators back in. She seemed nice enough, offered to find Sam a place to stay until they could rebuild the apartment, and made the effort to contact people for them to drop the charity items off to. Dean watched quietly the entire time, seeing his brother friendly with a woman who insisted that he and Jessica had been the best kids she had rented to in a long, long time. It kind of creeped Dean out to hear about how deceptively normal his brother had appeared to so many people down the hall and in the office and on campus and pretty much everywhere.

Dean had to wonder just how much of himself his brother had hidden away in order to become the guy that Stanford knew. Most of it probably hadn't been much of a sacrifice given how much Sam had wanted to get away from it all, but still. A guy can't hide that much of himself without forgetting who he is. Hell, Sam telling him how to handle the cops the other day would have been funny if it weren't so scary. It had been a big "Who are you and what have you done with my brother" moment. The woman standing in front of him, talking with his brother like he was from a fucking _Ozzie and Harriet_ rerun, had no idea the danger and force she was really dealing with. Then again, Dean was starting to feel like he didn't have a clue either.

Once she was gone, they started to tackle the living room. Things went quiet again. A few more people popped by now and then, mostly friends of Sam's or Jessica's who just couldn't believe it, wanted to offer their help, and stared at Dean when he was introduced to them like they couldn't believe that yes, Sam's big brother was real. He tried to be nice and keep his commentary to himself, but it took everything Dean had not to tell them all to get the hell out; Sam was his responsibility, and there was nothing a single one of them could do for his brother that would actually matter. But he held his tongue, for Sam's sake. He'd take care of what Sam — what they both — needed as soon as they were clear of civilians. He could wait. For now.

Sometime in the middle of things, Dean picked up what was left of a picture frame and shook the half-melted glass out. He swiped a finger over his mother's face, then his father's. Dead. Missing. Another world gone. This was all just too fucking unbelievable and too much coincidence to deal with. Little details first. They'd get back to the hunt for everything soon enough. Dean raised his hand and flipped it around so that Sam could see what he was holding.

"I'm assuming you want this?"

Sam blinked with a weird smile. "Man, that . . . that one manages to survive everything, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess it does."

"Ditch the frame, but yeah, Mom and Dad go with us."

"You got it." Dean elbowed the rest of the glass out — like he needed to cut himself in this place right now, fucking tetanus — and opened the back to take his parents out of their frame. The metal flaps were a little melty and didn't want to move, so he ended up just yanking the damn thing off. He let out a surprised "huh" when a flash of green dropped from between the sheets. He removed his parents and dropped the charred wood to the floor with the rest of the mess, picking up the green along the way.

_This dollar was used by Dean Winchester to pay for the soul of Sammy Winchester._

_This dollar was used by Sammy Winchester to buy the soul of Dean Winchester._

"Wow," he breathed. "I'll be damned."

"Hmm?"

Dean stepped over one of the three boxes they were collecting of stuff, slipping a little in the water, and thrust the bills into his brother's line of sight. "Ready to get hit with the amnesia stick?"

Sam read the childish scrawl across the tops of the bills and cocked his head awkwardly at his brother. "What is this?"

"You don't remember?" He did, and damn did he miss that kid right now. When all Sam could do was shake his head, Dean laughed ruefully. "You never did know when to stop asking questions."

"You realize that I have no idea whatsoever what you're talking about, right?"

"See? Question." On Sam's impatient look, Dean shrugged and explained, "You were listening to one of Pastor Jim's sermons and somehow got it into your head that you wanted to sell your soul to me. You said you didn't trust anyone to take care of your soul but me."

"Wait," said Sam with the first half smile that Dean had seen from his brother to remind him that Sam had made it out of the fire. "Was that the time that a tornado blew through town almost right after we got home from the fair?"

"Yep."

Sam studied the two bills in his hand with a nostalgic kind of awe. Dean was _thisclose_ to reminding him about the rules and find a tactful way to get the kid to move on when the younger man pulled a distinctly disgusted face. "God, I was such a weird kid."

Dean didn't miss how his brother very carefully slipped the bills into his wallet.

He curbed the compulsion to reach out and smack Sam playfully on the back of the head but couldn't pull back enough to keep from saying, "You still are a weird kid."

The smile was gone, but Sam managed to quietly hit back, "You _wish_ you were only weird."

They went back to work, not saying much of anything at all as they pulled things from trashed shelves and broken cabinets. Dean didn't like how stoic his brother was about it all, in either direction. There were no fond memories or angered grunts of frustration. It just was. It was dead, just like he'd thought.

After another hour and three boxes filled with pungent remains, it looked like they were probably finished for the day. They had other things to deal with before they were done, but for now, they both needed to get out of there. They were standing in the kitchen leaning on opposite countertops when Dean said, "I called Pastor Jim. He — "

"Not in here," said Sam with a violent shake of his head.

Dean wanted to understand even though the request made no sense, but he nodded and led the way out the door in silence. He felt his brother hesitate at the door but kept on walking. It felt like the dumbest thing he could possibly do to let Sam out of his sight right now, but he really was trying not to go overboard. Before he could stop himself, Dean charged out to the car to wait Sam out. He didn't have to wait too long, even though he was pretty sure it felt like an eternity before the kid slouched out of the building.

Sam joined him in leaning up against the hood of the car and gazed up at the remains of his safe life. He shuffled his feet for a while, kicking around a flatted beer bottle cap that was apparently the most fascinating thing in the world. After a while, he asked huskily, "So you were saying?"

"About?"

"You made calls?"

"Yeah. Pastor Jim and Caleb. They're going to take care of calling everyone else to give them the heads up. They both said we should come home, but I told them we needed to find Dad. Right?"

"Yeah." They were quiet again for a moment before Sam asked, "You didn't call Bobby?"

"Nah. Jim'll take care of it."

"They had a fight?" Sam guessed, and there was no need to say who the other half of the 'they' was.

"Bobby threatened to kill him the next time he sees him."

"Which is practically an expression of love in this bunch."

Dean flinched at the rueful tone. He didn't have to be completely in synch with the kid yet to know what he was thinking about. Yeah, they all had a weird way of dealing with each other. Four years of silence after one fight was about as close to a death threat as it was probably going to get.

They let the comment hang in the air. It didn't exactly need commenting. Dean instead shrugged awkwardly and nodded toward the car. "Get in. I'll go get the boxes."

"That's okay. I need to do this," Sam said and took off before Dean could argue.

Dean could do nothing but wait and hope that things went okay inside. It was a good five minutes before Sam came back down, eyes slightly puffier than they had already been. Rather than draw attention to them, Dean asked, "So where to?"

"The Moores wanted to see us for dinner. They're taking … They're going to take Jess home tomorrow. So we should probably get cleaned up. I don't want them seeing …" Sam stopped again, sniffed a little too loudly for it to be thoughtful. The smile didn't quite light his face when he bumped his shoulder into his brother's and said, "You stink. I'm not taking you out in public when you smell like that."

"Like you smell like roses."

"Just doing my job, looking out for your soul — or at least your social life," Sam said, still not entirely smiling. There was a glint in his eyes, though, that made Dean think that maybe — just maybe — Sam hadn't actually forgotten that deal as much as he had pretended to. "We can't both fall down on the job. And since I can dress myself … "

Dean flinched at the accusation, not hearing Sam trail off. "We're going to take care of this, Sam," Dean said, his voice slipping into that old reassurance that he wasn't entirely sure he knew how to find anymore. "That sonofabitch isn't going to get away with what it's done to us."

"I know." Too tired to talk about it at the moment, Sam tried to steer things back. "But seriously, you aren't doing anything smelling like that. I shouldn't even let you get in the car smelling like that."

"Who's letting who get in whose car?" Dean challenged.

"You'd thank me in the morning."

"You'll thank me in the morning if I don't make you walk your ass back to the motel."

"So much for looking out for me," said Sam, his crooked smile back in place for the first time that Dean could remember in a long time. He ducked into the car before his brother could say anything else, hoping that Dean would know that he'd been joking. Of all the people in the world, he still knew his soul — along with the rest of him — was safe with his big brother. He didn't know a whole lot else about the world at the moment, but that part he never had and would never forget.

_End_


End file.
